


Fireside

by cowboylakay



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboylakay/pseuds/cowboylakay
Summary: A night of contemplation by the fireside could change the tide of a relationship.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 2
Kudos: 91





	Fireside

Vergen became silent at night, docile in a way human cities weren’t. Dwarves evidently valued their rest, with less crime occurring in their cities once night fell, but it still felt wrong in the same way water seeping into boots felt. Uncomfortable, but ultimately not a problem.

Iorveth will take _not a problem_ over _danger at every turn_. Vergen wasn’t safe, but neither was anywhere else; not for an elf.

The peace was disturbed by the creaking of door hinges, with quiet but heavy footfalls causing Iorveth’s ears to prick up. A dh’oine, but not Geralt; too loud and calculated. No dh’oine was stupid enough to step foot into the outskirts of Vergen where he and his elves currently resided, with the exception of one.

“You’ve a lot of bravery to come here, dh’oine,” He spoke, his voice low and steady as the fire crackled before him. He noted the lack of metal rubbing against a belt or scabbard. “Unarmed, nonetheless.”

“If I had any intention of killing you, elf,” Vernon Roche said just as quietly, taking a seat on the chair a small table apart from his, “I would’ve done it on the way here.”

Iorveth blinked as the smoke of the firepit blew towards his face, shifting to angle away from it. This gave him a good view of Roche, who seemed to settle into his chair comfortably.

“I don’t recall inviting you here,” Iorveth told him, with only the small implication of a challenge in his tone. The events of the last few days, from travelling to Vergen from Flotsam on a ship to witnessing Saskia collapse from poison, had tired him out greatly. Even if he wanted to fight Roche, which he currently didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to summon the strength to do so.

Roche seemed to have the same idea. “I don’t recall asking,” he replied, breathing out as if he’d been holding his breath. His gaze moved from him to the fire, dancing elegantly against the wood. Iorveth only then realised his eyes were brown.

“What brings you here?” Iorveth asked, intending to come across as accusing but only managing to sound curious. If Roche noticed or cared, he didn’t react.

“Am I not allowed to spend time in the company,” Roche nodded at him then, as if considering, “of the figurehead of the cause I’m fighting against?”

Iorveth smiled wryly. It seemed he was capable of humour when they weren’t clashing blades. “Typically no, but these seem to be very atypical times.”

“Yes, about that,” Roche said, looking down at his hands resting on his lap. He seemed to either be considering something very difficult or feeling a terrible ache in his bowel. “I’m sorry, about Saskia. I.. imagine it’s difficult for you.”

It dawned on him belatedly that Roche was offering sympathy. Iorveth stared at him strangely, the incredulous look in his eye only reflecting a sample of the confusion and surprise he felt. The last time he’d been caught off guard, a squadron led by his right-hand elf had been massacred. Once, he’d vowed to never be caught off guard by Roche again, yet here he was.

Roche was still staring at him, but not expectantly. Iorveth nodded minutely, tilting his head enough that the fire illuminated his face. “How are you and your men settling into Vergen?”

“Honestly? Poorly,” Roche replied, accepting his lame attempt at changing the subject. “The people here treat us like shit, there’s not a place here that can or _want_ to house all my men, and the men themselves are getting twitchy over living so close to your elves.”

“You stayed in Flotsam for a while,” Iorveth pointed out.

“We were aware you lived in the forest then. Now, we can see you if we so much as lean over a balustrade to piss.”

“That isn’t our fault, nor our problem.”

Roche sighed, betraying how tired he actually was. “I know it isn’t, but my men don’t. They still look at you, with your pointed ears and,” he gestured wildly, “everything else, and see the enemy.”

“Need I remind who instilled that thinking into them?” Iorveth asked, some of his usual sharpness creeping back into his tone. He still didn’t know why Roche was here.

“I know.” Roche looked at him then, holding his gaze again. In the dim, warm lighting of the fire, he looked younger than his constant frown made him look, with fewer wrinkles and significantly less weary.

They said nothing for a time, letting the crackling of wood and the howling of the wind outside take their focus. They studied each other, this being the first time they could actually catch a good look at each other aside from when their swords clashed. _Curiosity,_ Iorveth told himself, _caution, looking for weaknesses._

“How did you get that scar?” Roche asked, breaking the silence with the low rasp of his voice. Iorveth looked away from Roche then, though not out of some insecure need to hide his face. His scar itched slightly as the warm air blew towards it.

“Attempting to find my blindspot, dh’oine?” He asked back, though it sounded more like deflection than anything else.

Roche smiled, an almost imperceptible change to his face but noticeable nonetheless. In the traitorous back of his mind, Iorveth thought he looked charming then. “I’d be a fool not to,” Roche replied, pulling his leg up onto his seat and sitting on it, “but no, this is just curiosity.”

Iorveth considered this for a moment before relenting. “It was before your time, from when I escaped the Ravine of the Hydra.”

“The execution of the Vrihedd Brigade,” Roche said, and Iorveth nodded. “I can’t imagine you got it from falling on your face. A spear, then?”

Iorveth nodded again, crossing his arms as he leaned back into his chair. From the corner of his eye, he could see Roche watching him. “Had the spearman stabbed a little further to the right, he would’ve killed me. The healers that found me did all they could to fix it, but my eye was lost forever. It healed poorly, as you can tell.”

Roche was silent for a moment, long enough for Iorveth to think he wasn’t going to reply. “I think it makes you look remarkable,” He said quietly, as though telling a secret. “Distinctive. Recognisable, certainly.”

Silence fell again as Iorveth processed the words. He looked at Roche then, watching him for any sign of dishonesty and found none. _Remarkable,_ he thought, repeating the word in his mind. No one had called him anything short of an insult in a long time.

He smiled this time, a genuine one that stretched his scar against his cheek. He met Roche’s gaze, which he realised had softened significantly compared to when they looked at him with that barely constrained rage after Geralt convinced them it would be easier to work together for the time being.

“Have you heard from the witcher?” Iorveth asked, tucking his hands closer to his chest. He assumed Geralt had gone to rest as soon as the alderman’s son showed him his room, and had no way of knowing if he’d gone to visit Roche.

“No, I haven’t seen him since after the council.” In a surprisingly agile movement, Roche tucked his other leg into the nook of his thigh. It occurred to Iorveth that Roche had dressed down, but the chaperon remained certain on his head. “The Dragonslayer’s poisoning seemed to affect him, but I can’t say. Hard to interpret anything from him.”

“Why are you here, Vernon?” Iorveth questioned after a short pause. Roche looked at him with a momentary look of shock, before it faded into a neutral expression.

He seemed to consider his response as he searched Iorveth’s face. The elf tried to keep his expression schooled but seemed to fail by some measure, judging from the sudden softness of Roche’s eyes and the small smile on his lips. In the privacy of his mind, Iorveth thought he much preferred this version of Vernon Roche.

Roche met his gaze with an almost gleeful expression that made him wonder when he’d started seeing the dh’oine as a formidable conversation partner, let alone a friend. Perhaps their vicious antagonism was the closest thing either have had to friendship. Perhaps it was just Iorveth alone sensing this. Perhaps it was just the circumstances.

“Company, Iorveth,” Roche said, and Iorveth realised then that he wasn’t alone, “for company.”

**Author's Note:**

> amazing and lovely art by [vicovaros](https://vicovaros.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! she was with me every scream and cry of the way to writing this and provided great support :’]
> 
> i’m [lakay](https://cowboylakay.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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